And That Will Be Just Fine
by Bibbledoo
Summary: I know "About Alex" is objectively a subpar movie but I like it anyway, and I wanted to write it as a second person POV from Alex's perspective. (If you don't know the movie: themes of suicide and mentions of drugs, please be careful.)


Stream of consciousness writing style.  
Basis of movie is that Alex attempted suicide. There's also drugs and alcohol mentioned in here.

Enjoy.

* * *

You're exhausted.

You look around your house and see the mess everywhere. You had _tried_ to do what Siri and Ben had done, with the thrift shops and making the place look beautiful, but it got lost somewhere between not knowing where to put the garage sale vinyl's, the trash you keep forgetting to take out, and the taxidermized deer head glaring down at you for what your father had hunted a long time ago.

You try to think about what to eat, or if you even should, when the temptation to call Ben pops up again. To ask him about his book, tell him you're looking forward to it, and maybe, if only for the five minutes of the phone call, feel a little less alone.

Ben doesn't answer the phone. The dial tone becomes your new friend, since you don't leave voicemails, and you wonder if Ben finds you as annoying as you find the voicemail tone exhausting.

No wonder he doesn't answer your calls anymore. You're a nuisance.

Sarah, Josh, and Isaac are other people you miss dearly. Being out here in the little house your father used to own was supposed to be a nice retreat from the stress of not finding a good job in L.A., but the place stresses you out. The taxidermized deer seems to hate you as much as Ben and Siri and Sarah and Josh and Isaac.

You try to sleep but can't, and you try to call Ben again, wary of the time zone and when you think his shift might be. He still doesn't answer, and you don't even let the automatic message finish.

_The number you have called is temporarily unavai—_

You hang up with a force you don't know you had, and it leaves you immediately. You sigh and stare at the ceiling.

In the end, dinner fails to come to you, and you lay there wondering if you're ever really hungry. Maybe it doesn't matter.

You hope that book is published soon. It gives you a glimmer of hope, knowing that Ben is successful and that you'll cherish his book soon enough and treasure it with the newspaper clippings you keep in your desk drawer. Maybe it will spark something in you like that first book did. It makes you smile, if only for a minute.

You fall asleep and wake up throughout the night, leaving you exhausted. You take some water after looking through your Twitter feed and noticing Siri's yoga photo and the water bottle next to her. Maybe hydration will do you good.

It's while you're scouring the fridge for lunch that it hits you.

Your fingers graze the cold, hard, lonely butter in the back of the fridge and the tough, maybe even moldy bread in your hand, and suddenly you're spacing out and your thoughts are going miles a minute.

_They only befriended you out of pity, after all. No wonder they're not calling you back. You're so annoying, Alex. Everyone would be better if you just—_

You slam the fridge with shaking hands and try to ignore the thought. It's just… a little sadness like back in college, that's all. Your friends are happy. You can be too, right?

…Do you deserve happiness?

The stale toast with hard butter on top (spreading it was a waste of energy, so you just dealt with the chunks of butter as they same) distracts you for a few seconds with how plain it tastes. Still, the thought comes back when you find a bottle of alcohol to nurse and you stare out the window.

_The world would be better without Alex Linden in it_.

It felt so obvious now. That's why Ben wasn't answering your calls, why no one reached out to you even when you messaged them. Why your job didn't work out, why the deer head in the living room judges you so hard. You don't belong here.

It's Wednesday afternoon that you start making your plans. You look through for your suit, you think about methods, worry about the mess, and ignore the anxiety in your stomach. It's the bad food. It's the daunting task of cleaning up the little house.

It's not fear. It's not wanting a reason not to do this. It can't be. This is what's right.

You try to call Ben again, time to damned, and he still doesn't answer. You decide to try to clean the house.

You give up in twenty minutes, crying with the gloves on and the trash bag next to you holding exactly two bottles, one disposable plate, and an apple core from the beginning of time. The dust was still unsettling. You move to seeing what you can section off, remove the traces of Alex Linden. Confusion fills your soul as you stare at the living room. Some of the stuff isn't yours. The rug, for example, and the deer head. There's a bear head next to it, too, but its eyes look up rather than down and that makes a sort of truce between you and the bear. You move the vinyl records to the middle of the room. Maybe Josh will take them after you're gone.

You leave the pasta in the pantry and clean out the rest of the fridge. There's some canned stuff that's still good and you keep it with you, for the next few days and maybe for a food donation when the place is removed of all traces of you.

You throw it away and look around. Maybe make your bed. You're moving around the papers and junk mail you keep meaning to throw away until you look at your desk. And you open the drawer and read through Ben's article again, smiling as you think about him.

Maybe you could call him again? You really want to hear his voice before you go. He doesn't answer, and you send out a Tweet on how empty rooms with a heavy echo feel.

You feel like you're the room with the echo: hollow and repetitive.

Friday rolls around. You feel ready. Your lungs are steel, your hair cleaned up if only slightly, and Ben's article is in your breast pocket. You don't want to be alone when you do it, in an odd way. Still, you call Ben, a small part of you hoping he'll pick up and then you two will talk and his book will be done soon and everyone else will talk to you again. Maybe even tell him how you feel right now and get help.

Ben doesn't answer, and it's a little confirmation from the universe that the world doesn't want nor need Alex Linden in it. You step into the tub and wonder about maybe trying one more call, to Siri or Sarah or Josh or Isaac, but you freeze up. If even Ben doesn't want to talk to you, why would they.

You make a final Tweet: _ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a great man_.

Once you drop your phone in the bath, you realize you never wrote a note. Maybe you should have.

It's too late now. What's the point of erasing yourself from the world only to leave a note behind?

It hurts so bad and you grit your teeth and try to find the right place. The water turns pink and you feel the panic set in right as breathing becomes hard.

You don't want to do this. You don't want to die. You were like this in college and the pain stopped and it would again soon but you need help, right now.

You're lucky your phone is waterproof and cry through the pain of each movement until you finally dial 911 and hyperventilate into the operator. You try to crawl out of the tub with the phone still on you. And Ben's writing. And your living family would be mad so when the hospital asks who to call, you say Ben and give his contact information before the doctors put you under and fix you up.

There's a nurse in the room with you the whole night, watching you and asking you questions here and there. You don't really want to hear it, but since you failed and are just so glad to be alive and not see your blood everywhere you answer her and let her watch you.

You convince the doctors that you were okay and that your friend (were you still that?) would be there to help you, and you don't get your suit back but the nurse is kind enough to hand you Ben's article. It's a little wrinkly from your panic, but otherwise not water damaged, and you thank her profusely. Another nurse changes your bandages before letting you off in a gaudy shirt from the hospital. You feel odd, wearing a shirt about becoming a dad. The taxi driver looks at you weird but asks no questions, and you are quiet during the drive, wondering if Ben was actually there or not, and then you see him.

He has a cigarette in his mouth and seems taken aback in several ways at seeing you. It doesn't hurt as much as you think it would, until you see all the cars and hear the chatter and your face falls.

"No, no, no, please don't tell me we're having a _party_ in honor of my suicide." Ben's face tightens at your comment, and you try your best to keep a neutral or happy face.

"…_Attempted_ suicide. If it was a suicide we'd _both_ be wearing suits." Hearing his voice makes you smile, and then everyone is there and says hello and the hugs are comforting. Even Josh's rudeness is something you miss. Sarah is hovering over you and everyone is scared of the downstairs bathroom, and you _want_ to clean it but you saw that blood when it was fresh. You don't want to think about it right now, how the blood smells without the water to cover it and whether or not you left a trail.

Isaac's girlfriend is adorable and also young, and she reminds you of yourself in how frozen she is staring at all of you. You try to smile at her, but it's the same smile you give everyone else. You want to be happy, and you appreciate them being here, and you missed them so much, but you don't feel as happy as you thought you would.

It's at dinner you seem to lose the happy face, when Kate shares her job saving lives and keeping people from doing what you tried to do. Your eyes water and your voice wavers and you can't help but be reminded of all the blood and how scared you were and how someone could have helped. "Wish I'd had your number then, you could have solved all my problems."

Everything is a bit of a happy yet upset blur after that, from Josh's suicide joke somehow making you chuckle, to not sleeping because Sarah and Josh were at it again, and running in the morning, and avoiding the downstairs bathroom, and running with Siri. Siri tells you Ben hasn't written in a year. You want to feel betrayed, but the exhaustion and the hurt from being ignored until you almost died clouds the book-writing pain and you promise to keep it a secret. Then you find Kate to apologize and her psychological words wash over you as she somehow explains all the feelings you're having. You feel shaken when she walks past.

Timmy the dog is a nice addition to the mix, and you think Timmy would be better off with Ben and Siri, even though the dog seems to assuage your loneliness. Timmy deserves someone who takes care of him, rather than the suicidal idiot who still has a mess all over the place. You need to shower, and Ben offers to go with you, and you just can't help it but boil over. The frustration explodes from you as you yell that you're _fucking_ fine and don't need to be bothered. The shower feels terrible, even though you manage to remove the grime.

Everyone is reconnecting and you want to join in, and it feels nice to just smile genuinely and watch your friends be like back then: happy and wanting to spend time together. Isaac dances and Kate is absolutely dumbfounded after taking the blunt. You feel a little bad for pressuring her. Then she's at work and you know she's talking to Amber on the phone but you still tear up because you _still_ feel lonely and it feels so nice to have yourself validated. Sarah's suggestion for therapy hangs around your mind.

Sarah starts a drinking game that Josh hates and Siri opts out of, and you're not completely on board but seeing Sarah smile is worth the dumb rules.

Then Josh ruins it.

His card leads to him ranting to you about why exactly you're an idiot for even thinking that death was a good option, and you're frozen where you sit. Ben tries to stand up for you, but then you try to explain yourself in odd words that don't feel right once you say them.

You want to let the feelings out: how you thought you were ready, and then you got scared at seeing your blood and you realized that your problems were fixable and that made you want to call the paramedics, but instead you come out as needy and manipulative, and now Ben is yelling at you too and the world is falling in on itself and once Ben walks off, you mean to look for Sarah, but Siri ends up with you instead and speaking to you in that gentle Siri voice of hers until you're finally coaxed into showing the stitches.

The hurt on her face makes you regret everything, and you expect her to pull a Josh (or, even more painfully, a Ben) on you and berate you, but instead she brushes her fingers over the thick scabs and kisses your exposed wrist. You're hugging her tightly and then you two kiss.

It's not a romantic kiss— she's married and you're just not into her, even though she's pretty and kind. She's second to Ben, and this is just the sort of teary-eyed affection that silences your nerves. She kisses your cheek and you two kiss again, and then Ben walks in and there's a panic everywhere.

Ben punches you and runs off, and you call him again, and you have to be taken to the house because you just want to stay out and wait or look. You decide instead to face the smell of blood and your memories to avoid Josh yelling again, and it's a slow process but soon enough you're done. Your hands are shaking and you feel like you never want to see the brownish red of dried blood ever again, but it's over now. The razor is in the trash. Maybe you'll shave in a week, or just try to show a beard. Sleep is more of a toss and turn next to Siri wondering when Ben will come back, and apologizing to each other profusely about everything, and worrying about Ben.

You find him in the morning, scrawling, and you're crying too hard to be coherent until he quiets you and tells you that you don't have to talk. He hands you the paper and your eyes water because it's something Ben wrote and it just sounds like Ben, like the Ben that writes good things, and you offer to let him stay as a sort of writer's retreat. With Timmy, of course.

Kate offers to find you a job, and the group picture has your bandages showing (although you think you folded your arms behind you well enough) but you honestly don't care. You're with the people who matter most to you (even Kate managed to burrow a place in your heart) and you think you might get better.

While Ben keeps writing and you try not to peek at the papers, you clean and pet Timmy often. You go to therapy and start your new job. Ben reminds you to take your medication and you remind yourself with a pill organizer. Even the deer head isn't glaring as much as it is… accepting that you live here now.

…You _know_ you're going to get better. Even if you're not better now, you will be, and that gives you all the hope you need.

Because the world is just fine with Alex Linden in it.

* * *

Finally got this story off my chest, now I can focus on other stuff.  
You see it's "Alex Linden" when Ben looks at his phone.  
Maybe Alex would have gotten his calls through to Ben if he didn't use AT&T haha.


End file.
